


Signed In Pencil

by AnotherGallavichLove



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Friendship, Happy Ending, M/M, Mostly Elio x Oliver, but also oliver's ex falls in love with oliver's sister because i said LESBIAN RIGHTS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-04 12:03:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21197360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherGallavichLove/pseuds/AnotherGallavichLove
Summary: After the phonecall with Elio, Oliver is still planning on getting married. In January, something changes.“I have no intention of marrying somebody who I’m not in love with. I have no intention of marrying somebody who isn’t in love with me. I deserve better, we both do. I’m not gonna be your back-up plan.”“I never said I wasn’t in love with you,” Oliver clarified, but it only caused Jasmine to raise an eyebrow. “I’m not in love with you,” he said then, with a sad chuckle. She nodded.





	1. whiskey, tea, and confessions

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone is into FCs, I'm thinking Vella Lovell for Jasmine, and Yael Grobglas for Oliver's sister (who's coming into the next chapter.)

It happened in the middle of January. Not that it hadn’t started before - in fact, it had been much like a rope, hastily cut down the middle, but hanging on by a thread. A fight, just like any other, broke that thread. Oliver had said something like ‘_You’re not cleaning the plates properly,_’ and Jasmine had furrowed her black brows, shaking her head as she responded with something to the effect of ‘_Do you want to do it? Because it’s clear you don’t know what it means to dry them - that one is still dripping._’

It had gone on, raised voices, crude words, and other things that were very unlike both of them - unless in each other’s company. Until finally, Oliver had thrown his hands up and walked outside, sitting down on the staircase outside their apartment building. The cold night air caused the hairs on his arms to raise, almost to the point where it hurt, and he considered going back inside, but before he could, his peripheral vision caught sight of a mop of black curls, Jasmine sinking down next to him. She carried two glasses of whiskey with her, the ice clinking against the sides. She handed it over to him, his pale fingers brushing over her brown ones before he gratefully brought it to his lips, his elbows on his knees.

The apology was on the tip of his tongue. It was what they always did - apologised, worked it out. Before he could, she spoke up, staring out into the street.

“You’re not in love with me.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

“I love you,” Oliver sighed, no hesitation in his voice.

“I know that,” Jasmine shook her head, turning to look at him, the streetlights lighting up the view of his profile. “I know you love me. But that is not the same thing. You’re not in love with me.”

“I don’t know why you would say that,” Oliver stated, bringing the glass back up to his lips, staring out at the cars passing by, the sounds of the engines fading in and out, much like the noise of pedestrians passing the stairs. Jasmine placed her glass of whiskey beside her, moving her feet up a step so that she could wrap her arms around her legs, resting her temple against her knees. When she wouldn’t answer, Oliver turned to look at her. She was so beautiful - she truly was. There was no anger on her face as she looked up at him - none. Just softness, kindness. He loved her - he loved her so much. He knew that. Was he in love with her? He wasn’t sure. What was being in love even supposed to feel like? He had thought that it was what he felt for her - stability, security, a need to keep the other person safe, and happy. And maybe being in love were those things, but weren’t you also supposed to feel… passion? A need, not only to want the other person at home so that they were safe, but because you missed them? Wanted to touch them? “Are you?” Oliver finally asked, turning his head back out into the street, refusing to look into her brown eyes. “In love with me?”

Jasmine cleared her throat, wrapping her arms tighter around her legs, picking her temple off of her knees and replacing it with her chin, staring out into the street, just like Oliver.

“No.”

———

Eventually, the cold got to them both, and they had to head back up to the apartment. Oliver made them both tea, and they ended up on opposite sides of the small sofa. Jasmine’s feet were on Oliver’s lap, and his hand twitched towards her ankles, but something about massaging her feet felt wrong. As if he was betraying somebody - he wasn’t. Massaging somebody’s feet wasn’t even anything remotely sexual, or romantic, but somehow it felt more intimate than kissing, or doing anything else.

“So?” Oliver asked, clearing his throat, before taking a breath. He turned to look at her, catching her right as she tied her natural, black curls on top of her head, a thin strand falling over her forehead. “It’s off, isn’t it?”

“I have no intention of marrying somebody who I’m not in love with. I have no intention of marrying somebody who isn’t in love with me. I deserve better, we both do. I’m not gonna be your back-up plan.”

“I never said I wasn’t in love with you,” Oliver clarified, but it only caused Jasmine to raise an eyebrow. “I’m not in love with you,” he said then, with a sad chuckle. She nodded.

“It always felt like we were signing everything in pencil,” she sighed. “Signing us in pencil. Your parents will be happy. They never liked me.”

Oliver wished that he could assure her that she was wrong - that they liked her just fine, but they both knew that it wasn’t the truth. They were happy that he was getting married, settling down - with a woman. They would just have preferred it to be with a white woman, who liked to wear dresses, and knew how to keep her mouth shut. There was nothing wrong with those kinds of women, but Jasmine wasn’t one of them.

“I really wish that I was in love with you,” Oliver admitted suddenly, leaning his head against the back of the sofa, looking at her. It was the truth - it would make his life so much easier, but not just that - she was such a good person. She deserved a person who loved her, was in love with her, someone to give her their everything.

“I know,” Jasmine took a sip of her tea, and then placed the cup onto the coffee table, moving closer to Oliver, who brought his arm up out of habit, letting her lean her head against his chest, his nose in her hair. “What happened in Italy?” Immediately, she could feel him tense up, but she wasn’t the kind of person to back off. Perhaps, that was the reason why he liked her so much, why he had seen himself being able to spend the rest of his life with her - before Italy, at least, it had seemed like a decently good life to have. Jasmine called Oliver out on his bullshit, didn’t let him get away with things. Just like somebody else he knew. “You met someone, right?” She continued. “You were different when you came back. Heartbroken, and happier than I’ve ever seen you, all at the same time.”

Oliver was happy that she had moved closer to him, because if she had still been sitting on the other side of the sofa, she would have been looking at his face, would have been able to tell how he went through about ten emotions in the span of five seconds.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Jasmine, please,” he begged, voice low, but quiet.

“A man?” It sounded like a question, but it didn’t require an answer. Although they had never quite stated it out loud - at least not while sober - they both knew that the other person wasn’t opposed to having relations with the same gender. Jasmine was a lot more open with it than Oliver, but she had known him for long enough that she had put the pieces together. Oliver’s body was like a rock against her side - tense. Scared. “It’s just me. You can talk to me,” Jasmine whispered. “I always figured you fell in love that summer. We were broken up. If it had been a girl, there’s no reason for you to keep it a secret. From anybody. But you never talk about Italy - “

“Stop talking.” Oliver’s tone was stern, but he didn’t raise his volume, and Jasmine knew that he wasn’t angry with her. He was sad. In fact, there was more sadness in his voice that she thought she had ever heard before. Little by little, she had been slipping, relaxing against him, but now she sat up, resting her elbow on the back of the couch, palm against her cheek. Oliver sighed, tucking that one loose curl of hers behind her ear.

“It’s nothing,” he promised her.

“It’s something,” she protested, voice soft. “I can’t make you talk about it. But… one day you’re going to be on your deathbed, and I don’t think you’re gonna be asking yourself ‘_Did I make my daddy happy?_’”

———

“The first box goes in the truck, the other one in my car.” Oliver looked up from his place at the kitchen table as Jasmine came out from their previously shared bedroom, calling out instructions to the movers. They made eye contact across the room, and Oliver looked away, but Jasmine walked over anyway, placing aside the half-empty moving box she was carrying. “A letter’s a good start,” she commented. Oliver pushed away the urge to roll his eyes. There were several pieces of crumpled paper ahead of him, a pencil in his hand. He didn’t like this - he didn’t like feeling this sense of insecurity within himself. He liked being the strong, confident man that knew what he wanted out of life.  
He leaned back in the creaking chair, locking his fingers behind his neck.

“Why do you care?” He asked.

“Because I love you. Because that look in your eye is fading more every day.”

“What look?”

Jasmine sighed, shaking her head as she turned around, digging through the moving box behind her before she found what she was looking for.

Jasmine took the pencil out of his hand, replacing it with a pen.

———

It was early in the morning, the next day, when Oliver stood in front of the mailbox, the envelope in his hands, thumb gently resting right below the ‘E’. Before he could think better of it, he dropped the letter in, and walked away.


	2. letters, lesbians, and red wine

Elio’s father had handed him the thin envelope, without a word. Since he rarely got mail, the minute that he looked down at it - at his name, their address, the way it was so neatly written, blue ink on white paper - he hoped. Barely, did he have the courage to do so, but he did. He hoped.

He made his way up the staircase. The house wasn’t nearly as large as the one they stayed in during the holidays, but even if it had been, he still would have wanted the privacy. Still would have locked the bedroom door behind himself, still would have gotten onto his bed, pressing his back close up against the wall, as if he needed it to support him, in case what was inside the envelope was not what he wished it would be.

In a way, he wondered what reason there would be for Oliver to send him a letter - their phones worked just fine. That had been proven several times. Most recently, around the end of the year, when he had called to say that he was engaged.

Elio looked down at the paper, his nail scraping the surface slightly. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to open it - maybe the possibility that it was what he wanted it to be was better, the slight chance that he had an envelope in his room that could change everything. Maybe he should keep it a mystery.

Elio left the envelope on the bed, wandering around his bedroom, much as he had done on his first night with Oliver. Filled with nervousness - but that night, it had been mostly good feelings, though. He wasn’t so sure this time.

He could remember his voice on the phone, that day. The words that had broken him. But he could also remember the name that had healed him, if just for a second.

_Oliver._

He had to know. He had to open it. So he did.

———

The solid few knocks echoed throughout the empty apartment, and Jasmine stumbled over an empty moving box on her way to answer the door, cursing quietly under her breath. She wasn’t sure who she was expecting - her dad? Oliver with something for her to sign, since they were getting rid of the old apartment? Either way, she hadn’t been expecting Oliver’s sister.

“Hi,” Leah greeted, brushing away a strand of her blonde, perfectly curled hair. Jasmine leaned against the door, tilting her head somewhat to the side.

“Hey, you,” she nodded, and the casual tone in her voice seemed to calm Leah down - not that Leah was ever truly calm. She was closer to one of those people who arranged the money in her wallet according to serial number.

“Um…” Leah looked down to the floor in the hallway of the run-down apartment building. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry… about you and my brother.”

“No, you’re not.” Jasmine didn’t miss a beat, and it seemed to startle Leah, as she blinked a few more times than necessary.

“No, I really am,” she nodded. “You always seemed really happy together, and I - “

“No we didn’t,” Jasmine called her out again. Leah let there be a beat, and a sigh from her nose, before she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, looking back down to the floor.

“Are you mad that I came here?” Jasmine kept her eyes closed for just a slight moment longer than what could be considered a blink, and then she took a few steps back into the apartment, opening the door wider for Leah to step inside.

———

The letter wasn’t long. In fact, Oliver’s neat handwriting barely took up half the page, yet Elio couldn’t stop reading, and re-reading it, clutching the thin piece of paper in his slender fingers.

_Oliver._

_I trust you are doing well, and I sincerely hope that you are happy in life. _   
_My life is, in lack of a better term, in a transition phase. My fiancée and I have decided to go our separate ways, and I feel it may have led me to stand at a crossroads. _   
_I keep reliving Bergamo, and Monet’s Berm, and I fear that the summer spent in Italy may have been the happiest weeks of my life. Not the happiest weeks of the life I’ve already lived, but my entire life, including what’s to come. Unless I decide to go back, unless I see those things again._

_Among memories of Bergamo, and Monet’s Berm, there is also you. If you agree, I would love to have you as a friend again, even as a friend, and a friend alone. That is your decision to make._

_I felt I needed to write this down, to make sure I said what needed to be said, but please, Oliver, if you decide to get back to me, don’t write. Call. I miss your voice._

_Yours,_   
_Elio_

After his fifth, eighth - or fifteenth - time making his way through the letter, Elio finally collapsed back onto his bed, holding the piece of paper to his chest, staring up at the ceiling. He could hear Oliver’s voice coming through the inked words.

“Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio,” he whispered into the empty room, much like he had that time on the phone. “Elio, Elio.”

———

“It was a long time coming,” Jasmine explained, resting her head in her palm, elbow on the back of the sofa, as she brought the glass of red wine up to her lips, just as Leah brought hers down. She had relaxed a bit by now, feet resting on one of the many unpacked cardboard boxes. It wasn’t because of the wine - they had barely consumed half a glass collectively - but Jasmine had stopped teasing her, and it seemed that whenever they were in the same room together, they both just… breathed. Jasmine wasn’t sure how to explain it.

“Well, I suppose, as you said… you never seemed completely happy together,” Leah said, pausing for a moment before softly adding; “And I also suppose that I lied, that I was trying to be polite, when I said that… I was sorry about you and Oliver splitting up. I think we both know…” Leah trailed off, the muscles in her neck tensing as she looked down into her glass, avoiding Jasmine’s eyes. “I’m not.”

———

“So, you’re really in love with this girl from Italy?” Michael handed Oliver a beer, as they both took their seats on packed boxes, in the middle of the empty apartment.

“I…” Oliver trailed off. He had been about to say ‘_I think so_’ or ‘_We’ll see_’ or ‘_I like her a lot._’ but they were all lies. Cowardly lies. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I’m in love with her.”

“What is she like?” Oliver parted his lips to give a response, but then he put them back together. Michael was a decent guy - Leah’s ex, from way back in the day - and they were good friends. But they weren’t best friends, nowhere close, and not only did Oliver not feel safe admitting to him that ‘_this girl from Italy_’ was really ‘_this boy from Italy_’ but he also didn’t want to share Elio with just anybody. Somehow, it felt too private.

“Smart,” Oliver settled on. “Stubborn. Beautiful.”

“Hot?” Michael asked. Oliver had brought his beer back up to his lips, but at the comment, he brought it back down, shooting his friend a look. It felt as if he was pushing Elio behind his back, protecting him. “Alright, sorry - at least now Jasmine’s not in your way. And you’re not in hers.”

That last comment caused Oliver to frown.

“What? What do you mean I was in her way?”

“Oh, come on,” Michael shook his head, running his hand over his shaved head. “You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed after all of these years.”

“What?”

“Jasmine and Leah?”

———

The slow notes of the music begun playing, and Jasmine fought a smile as Leah took her glass from her hand, placing it onto the coffee table, reaching her hand out.

“I’m not dancing, dancing is for white people.”

“I’m white, humour me,” Leah shrugged, with another glass and a half of wine in her system. Jasmine grinned, taking her hand, standing up before she let Leah lead her to the middle of the room, soft, yellow light falling across their faces.

———

“Jasmine and Leah - what?” Oliver nearly chuckled.

“They’re not just friends, Oliver, you’ve figured that out by now, right?”

“Are they…”

“No, no - but… they will. Eventually - think about it. Every single time Jasmine’s had a problem in her life, your sister’s been there to solve it.”

———

Leah, eyes wandering across Jasmine’s smooth, brown skin; the dark eyes may as well be staring into her soul. It wasn’t supposed to end up like this - she had thought that she had truly, only gone over to this apartment to make sure that Jasmine knew that she was there for both of them, that she wasn’t happy about their split.

She had been lying to herself, she knew that now. Jasmine’s hand pressed against her back, holding her closer; Leah wasn’t short, but Jasmine was tall, and she towered above her, a decent amount. They were close enough that one of her black curls brushed Leah’s shoulder, and she thought her throat dried out completely.

———

“When Jasmine found out her mother died, you tried to make everything okay, I know you did, but nothing was working, she was just sobbing, and sobbing, and then finally, who came over, and told her that everything was going to be okay? Leah, and she listened,” Michael recalled, in front of a stunned Oliver. “When Leah was robbed last year, your parents, you, everyone tried to make her feel better, but in the end, who actually made her feel okay?”

“Jasmine,” Oliver whispered.

“And when you and Jasmine got engaged, who wasn’t happy to hear the news?”

“Leah.” Oliver had thought she had been sad because she was a year and a half older, and he was getting married before she was.

“Oliver, as much as you think Jasmine’s been in between you and this Italian girl - you’ve been in between her and Leah. Maybe they don’t even realise it themselves, but it’s true.”

———

As they danced, Jasmine pulled away from Leah, so that she could do a spin, but it was mostly a trick, to give her the chance to move her hand from her fingers to her wrist, tugging her back in, lips colliding.

Leah was right there with her; the dancing was over, and instead, she wrapped her arms around her neck, her fingers getting tangled up in the sea of black curls.

———

“Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” Oliver sighed, drinking down more of his beer.

“Thought you would have, are you upset?”

“No, no - I told you, I’m in love with someone else,” he shook his head. “Are you? Upset? I mean, are you okay with the… men and women - “

“Yeah, yeah - I mean, I don’t get it, especially the men, but - “

“It’s not a girl from Italy,” Oliver - in a very uncharacteristic moment - interrupted him, in fear of the courage not being there when Michael had finished his sentence.

“You split up with your fiancée because you’re in love with a man, and said fiancée is likely in bed with your sister as we speak. Your folks are gonna be so happy,” Michael grinned, swallowing down more of his beer, Oliver letting out a tired chuckle.

“We’re not gonna be on our deathbeds asking ourselves if we made our parents happy,” Oliver said then, to which Michael nodded.

“If you’re not careful, I’m gonna tell Jasmine you’re stealing words that clearly came from her.”

“Shut up.”

———

There was no real reason why Elio needed to be alone in the house when he made the call - but he wanted to be. Which meant that he had had to wait two whole, agonising days before he stood there, in the hall, with the phone pressed to his ear, thumb and index finger nervously picking at his bottom lip.

Two tones. Three tones. Four tones.

_“Hello?”_

“Elio," Elio breathed into the reciever. 

_“Oliver.”_


	3. phonecalls, suitcases, and kisses

”Elio,” Elio had to whisper, just once more. “Elio, Elio, Elio.” Maybe four.

“_Oliver, Oliver, Oliver,_” came the awaited response. “_How are you?_”

His voice was just as Elio remembered it - deep, and stern, but soft, all at once. The last time he had heard that voice, he had been heartbroken, but now, something inside of him sparked. There was a slight sliver of hope. Elio took a beat to think over his answer to the question that Oliver had asked him - how was he? How was he? Good? No. Bad? No. The words were on the tip of his tongue; ‘_Better if you come back to me_,’ but he didn’t let them leave his lips, scared it was too early, scared they would tear what was in the process of being repaired in between them.

“Not bad,” Elio finally admitted - and it was the truth. He wasn’t lying in bed, crying, and he wasn’t thinking about Oliver every single day - but now that he was here, in his ear, he could feel his heart ache. “You?” Then, tentatively adding; “Sorry to hear your engagement didn’t work out.” That wasn’t a complete lie, either - if a marriage with this unknown woman would have made Oliver happy, then Elio would have wanted nothing more than for them to go through with it. That was how much he cared for Oliver. All he wanted was for him to be happy.

“_I uh…_” It wasn’t often that Elio heard Oliver hesitate. “_I’m not. I wasn’t in love with her. You shouldn’t marry somebody you aren’t in love with._”

“That’s true,” Elio nodded to himself, his bottom lip in between his index and thumb, spinning around as he looked down at the floor, nearly tangling himself in the cord.

“_Especially if you are in love…_” Surely nearly a full minute had passed before Oliver added those words. “_… and it’s not with them._” Elio breathed heavily, sinking down on the chair next to him. “_I only say that because I want you to know. I would never want to put any kind of pressure, or obligation onto your shoulders, you know that,_” Oliver added, then.

“I know,” Elio nodded, as if Oliver could see him through the phone. “Elio,” he couldn’t help but sigh again, turning his head to look out the window. “Come back to me,” he pressed his mouth closer to the receiver.

“_Are you sure that’s what you want?_”

“Yes,” Elio whispered, without a moment’s hesitation. “I’m sure. Be with me. Come back to me. Will you?”

“_Of course._”

———

  
Still half asleep, Jasmine reached out her hand to the other side of the bed - or rather, raised mattress, because the apartment was still covered in moving boxes, and furniture that hadn’t been put back together yet. The sheet was cold, and it caused her to open one eye, brushing the curls away from her face, the sound of heels on the old wooden flooring soon coming together with the shape of Leah, coming out from the bathroom.

“It’s too early,” Jasmine mumbled, mostly to herself, eyes falling closed.

“Some of us don’t work from home.” Jasmine merely grunted. “Besides…” She opened her eyes again, feeling a weight on the side of the bed, along with a hand, brushing her cheek. “I don’t think we should do this - not until I talk to Oliver.” Jasmine had caught her hand in hers, trying to pull her back into bed, but at the mention of his name, she let go, sighing, turning her back to Leah. “It’s been two weeks already. He should know.”

“I know he should know,” Jasmine admitted. “usonnowen… heshoknowit,” she mumbled into the pillow, and Leah had to take a couple seconds to figure out what it meant.

“I thought maybe I could go by the apartment today. Or do you want to tell him together?” Leah asked.

“No. You,” Jasmine grunted, already half asleep.

———

Staring at the half-packed suitcase from across the room, Oliver listened intently to the tones that rang into his ear. One. Two. A few more, and then the familiar voice was on the other line.

“Hi, professor. It’s Oliver,” he did his best to sound normal - to sound as if he wasn’t nervous, and perhaps it worked, but he could still hear the slight shake to his own voice.

“_Oliver! It’s been a while since we’ve heard from you. To what do we owe this pleasure?_” Oliver immediately realised that Elio hadn’t told them about the contact that they had picked up in the past weeks, but if he knew Elio right - and he believed he did - it hadn’t been a conscious decision to keep them in the dark.

“Well, I just wanted to tell you that I’m moving. To Italy, I just signed the papers for the apartment I’m renting. I had such a good time working with you that summer, and I thought if you were interested, we could keep in touch? Now that I’ll be closer.”

“_You’re moving here? Permanently?_” The surprise in his voice was inevitable.

“Yes.”

“_May I ask why?_” The slight shift in his tone caused Oliver to wonder if Elio had mentioned something, anyway. “_I heard you were engaged, is your fiancée coming with you?_”

“No, professor, I’m going alone. We decided we weren’t meant to be together after all.”

“_Ah, I see, well that’s sad news. Still, I’ll be happy to have you close by, you are one of the best people I have worked with._”

“That’s awfully kind, and I’m sure untrue, but I appreciate it,” Oliver said through a deep chuckle.

“_Elio will be glad to have you back,_” he said then, and Oliver found himself swallowing, trying to rehydrate his dry throat. That could mean anything - it could easily mean; ‘_Elio will be glad to have you back in Italy, since you were such good friends._’ But even if Elio hadn’t mentioned his father knowing about them, Oliver probably still would have had a feeling that it meant something more.

“Well, I’ll be glad to be back,” Oliver agreed, before carefully adding, if only to ensure that Professor Perlman knew that his feelings for his son were not a throw-away thing; “With him.”

“_He picked wisely,_” the professor stated, which caused Oliver to chuckle again.

“I’m not sure about that.” Then, there was a beat. “I’ll try not to change your mind.”

Oliver had just hung up the phone, when he heard the knock on the door, and went to answer it.

“Hi,” he greeted his sister, taking a step back in surprise at her arrival. She didn’t say anything back - instead just stepped closer to him, giving him a quick hug - something they didn’t tend to do, at least not to greet each other. “Leah, is something wrong?” She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, unwrapping the scarf from around her neck as he closed the front door behind them. They both took a seat on opposite moving boxes.

“I just…” she trailed off, looking to the suitcase on the bed. “Are you going somewhere? Why wouldn’t you just pack everything in the boxes?” Oliver braided his fingers together, elbows resting on his knees - he should have told her earlier. It wasn’t as if they saw each other every single day, they weren’t that insanely close, but they still talked at least a few times a month; they were the only decent family members they had left.

“Yeah, I have something to tell - “  
“I need to tell you - “

They sighed, closing their eyes; their mirroring mannerisms caused them to look a lot more like twins than siblings.

“You go,” Oliver said, softly.

“I uh…” Leah scratched her temple. “I know that you said that you weren’t in love with Jasmine, but um… something happened, and I still feel bad about it - actually, I don’t feel bad about doing it. I feel bad about not telling you, because it’s been going on for a few weeks - “

“You and Jasmine?” Leah froze, staring at her brother, before slowly nodding.

“How did you know?”

“It doesn't matter,” Oliver promised. “I’m happy for you, you know, it makes sense - the more I look back on everything. Just… make sure you’re good to her, make sure she’s good to you, you both deserve the world, you’re both… good people,” he shrugged, unable to find better words. Leah swallowed.

“So you’re okay? You accept this? Not just me with your ex, but me with… a woman?”

Oliver leaned back, taking a breath, before nodding to the suitcase on his bed.

“I’m packing for Italy. I’m moving, Leah. Because… I’m in love, and… it’s not a woman.” Leah’s face softened.

“That’s why you were so different when you came back from there.” If Oliver was being honest, he wasn’t sure what everyone meant when they said he was different from what he had been like before he had gone to Italy - sure, he felt different, but he hadn’t been acting that differently, what he could tell. “Are you gonna tell them?” Leah asked, then. She didn’t need to clarify who ‘them’ was.

“Are you?” Oliver raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s time we stop living for our parents, but they don’t have to know everything about our lives.” It wasn’t as if he wanted to keep his life a secret from his parents, because of shame, or anything to that effect - he just figured that telling them about his relationship with a man - especially since he barely spoke to his parents to begin with - was unnecessary. It would bring him a lot more stress than relief.

“They would make our lives hell,” Leah sighed.

“They’re missing out,” Oliver promised. “We’re great.”

“We’re great,” Leah mocked, before laughing, a sad tone to the sound. “I’m happy for you,” she said, then.

“You, too.”

———

Somewhere in the back of Oliver’s mind, he had imagined that his reunion with Elio would involve a restaurant, or a café, somewhere in the city - preferably early enough that the daylight still laid across the sky. So that they could talk, catch up. But of course, as a result of Oliver’s call to Professor Perlman, he had been invited to their house on his very first night in Italy - technically second, as he had arrived around midnight.

As the taxi pulled up to the drive way, Oliver realised how similar the house was to the one that they stayed in during the summer - of course, about half, if not a third of the size, and there wasn’t nearly as much empty land around, but something about the way it stood on top of the small, gentle hill, still reminded him of that summer.

Oliver thanked the driver, and got out, seeing Mr. and Mrs. Perlman opening the front-door to greet him, way before he was actually close enough to knock.

“Oliver,” Annella welcomed him with that same, soft voice, as they shared a hug, and her lips met his cheek. “We’re so happy to have you back so soon,” she continued as Oliver shook the professor’s hand.

Oliver was led inside, and the more the darkness fell outside the large windows, the warmer the dining-room felt, with it’s yellow glow from the fireplace, and the candles. Their housekeeper - not Mafalda, which was a nice break, he remembered Elio stating at some point or another - placed the platters of food onto the table, as the three stood together, sharing small-talk.

Then, there he was. Coming down the staircase, just as Oliver remembered him, and yet not at all. The jeans were the same ones that he had worn on that night - they had to be - and when he paused at the last step, to scratch his temple, the dark-blue button-up raised to reveal a short sliver of skin.

“Elio.” Perhaps, Oliver should have let Elio’s parents discover him, but he couldn’t help it - he had to say his name. At the sound of his voice, something changed in Elio’s demeanour, as if he relaxed, taking the steps over to the three of them. “It’s nice to see you again.” Oliver wasn’t sure why he felt the need to be so formal, as if they were still hiding their relationship from Elio’s parents, but despite the hints shared, it wasn’t as if they had clearly stated what they had shared that summer - what they hoped to share again. Perhaps, it was a polite thing to do - to be nothing but polite in front of them. Had they been alone, of course, the inevitable question would have left Oliver’s mouth - either now, or in a few minutes; ‘Can I kiss you?’

“You, too,” Elio said - then he looked away, as if he was searching his brain for something else to add, but came up with nothing.

The dinner was lovely - the food was not nearly as good as Mafalda’s, which Oliver would be sure to let her know when he saw her again. Oliver, Annella, and Samuel all engaged in conversations that Elio didn’t seem all to interested in, only interjecting when he was spoken to, although when some time had passed - when their stomachs were full, and the dark blue shade outside the windows had turned to black, Oliver carefully brought his foot over to Elio’s, his toe brushing his ankle. They weren’t looking at each other - Oliver was listening as Samuel answered a question that he had asked, but Elio responded, placing his foot on top of Oliver’s.

After way too much food - and a bit more wine than necessary, shared in between all four of them - Annella suggested that Elio should give Oliver the tour of the house, which neither Elio, nor Oliver felt the need to object to.

Oliver followed Elio up the creaking staircase, and just as they made their way around the corner, out of sight, he turned around to look at Oliver, stopping in his tracks.

“What?” Oliver whispered. He could see the slight hint of a smile on Elio’s lips, right before he turned back around, shrugging. He reminded him so much, now, of that same boy that had walked around his room, with his hands behind his back, nervous, unsure.

“This is my room,” Elio stated, opening one of the doors in the hallway, letting them both in, before closing it.

“I like it,” Oliver whispered. It reminded him - much like the house - of the one they stayed in during the summer. It was smaller, the walls were different, the floor was different - but the scent, the feeling - it was the same. Without thinking much of it, Oliver sank down on the edge of his bed, and Elio stayed by the door - it was as if they had travelled back in time.

“You said you’d been on and off for a long time.” Elio’s voice was slightly above a whisper, now, and perhaps more harsh than Oliver had heard it before. He had suffocated these words for the entire dinner, he just knew he had, he could hear it in his tone. “And now you’re… off?” Elio shrugged again.

“No,” Oliver shook his head. “No, no, Elio - we’re over. Over, over.” Elio gave him a nod - a slow one. He brought his head up, and then dropped it. As if he wasn’t quite sure whether Oliver was to be believed. “Would you come over here?” Oliver asked - voice soft enough that Elio would understand that a ‘no’ was a perfectly acceptable answer. Elio moved across the floor, until he stood in front of him; then he placed one knee beside him on the bed, and Oliver curled his fingers around his thighs, pulling him onto his lap, as if they had done this their entire lives. It felt as if they had. “I don’t want her. She doesn’t want me, we don’t want each other,” Oliver sighed, taking in the view of Elio’s eyelashes, as he looked down at his chest, as if there was something very interesting about the second to top button of his shirt. “I want you.” Carefully, one of Oliver’s hands let go of his thigh, so that he could wrap his arm around his waist, softly.

“For how long?” Elio looked into his eyes now, and Oliver could hear it - the hurt. ‘_Forever._’ Oliver couldn’t say that. It sounded like a line, a lie, and even if he believed it to be true, it wouldn’t bring Elio any security; he knew that.

“For a long time,” Oliver said instead. “If you’ll have me. If you don’t, that’s okay, too. I meant what I wrote in that letter. If you just want me as a friend, I’ll take it, Elio, I will - “

Elio interrupted him, hands on either side of his face, taking Oliver’s top lip in between his own. Oliver felt his body relax at the contact, both of his hand moving to hold Elio’s face as well, his thumb on his chin. As they kissed, and kissed, not moving from their place on the edge of the bed, Oliver begun to feel something irritating his top lip, and he realised that Elio had begun to grow a slight brush of a moustache - the kind that you couldn’t quite see unless you looked for it.

Oliver broke the kiss with a hum, brushing one of Elio’s curls behind his ear. Elio tried to chase after his lips, his hands beneath his shirt, now, but Oliver stopped him, thumb on his top lip.

“Are you growing a beard?” There was a teasing tone to his voice - they both knew that the hairs were not nearly, even in the same area code for them to be considered, even a weak beard, or a moustache.

“Kiss me, please,” Elio tried, rolling his hips, lips parted as he went in for another kiss, but Oliver stopped him.

“Your parents are downstairs, maybe we should stop,” Oliver tried, feeling his dick grow harder, in response to Elio rolling his hips.

“You’ve had me on all fours with my parents in the house,” Elio reminded him, raising an eyebrow, trying and failing to go in for a kiss, once again.

“Yeah, a house three times this size,” Oliver reminded him. “Tell you what…” he paused, his hands still cradling Elio’s face, thumbs on his chin; he was so beautiful. All the previous uncertainty was gone from his soft features - all Oliver could see was need, love - with his lips parted, eyes relaxed. It was the same look he had had in Rome, begging for Oliver to kiss him. “Let me take you to dinner tomorrow - then, if you want, I will let you see my new apartment.”

“Is there a bed?” Elio tugged on the strands of hair at the nape of Oliver’s neck, getting up on his knees, so that his face was hovering above his.

“If there wasn’t, I don’t recall that usually stopping you,” Oliver reminded him, this time, unable to stop Elio’s kiss.

———

After a heavy make-out session - that Oliver had forced himself to stop before it got too far - they laid together, on Elio’s bed, Elio’s head on Oliver’s chest. A long, comfortable silence rested in between them, nothing but soft kisses to arms, and cheeks. Then Oliver spoke up.

“I have something for you.” Elio tried to move, but Oliver kept him close, reaching into his pocket, handing it over. “The pen I used to write the letter,” he explained softly, into the dark room, brushing some of Elio’s curls from his eye, before resting his lips against them. “Jasmine and I - she’s the woman that I was -

“Oliver,” Elio begged him through a whisper.

“I know, but just listen. You were worried that I wasn’t serious about us. Jasmine’s smart, and she’s just a good person - the night that we decided to call the wedding off, she told me that she had always felt as if we had written our relationship in pencil - so that when the time came, we could just erase it, and everything would be fine. She was right,” Oliver whispered. Elio sighed, toying with the ballpoint pen in between his fingers. “I never felt enough for her to sign anything in ink - but when she saw me writing that letter to you - “

“She knows?”

“She knows, Elio - she’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. Except for you,” he promised, with a kiss to Elio’s forehead. “She gave me that pen.” Elio sighed, pushing himself up onto his forearms so that he could look at Oliver’s face.

“I don’t get it.”

“Just… take that pen,” Oliver told him, his hand over Elio’s. “As my promise to you. What I feel for you, my words, and promises - take that pen as a reminder that none of it is ever signed in pencil. Okay?”

“Okay,” Elio whispered, nodding. He placed the pen on his nightstand, and Oliver felt cold for the few seconds it took; then he came back, and he wrapped his arms back around Elio’s waist. Elio dropped a kiss to his cheek, and Oliver breathed out a sigh of amusement. “Elio,” Elio whispered, brushing his nose with his own.

“Oliver.”


End file.
